


how to defy the odds

by NoItsBecky_127



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Wynncraft - Fandom
Genre: Abuse of Hyphens, Amnesia, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Fantasy, Gen, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Tried, Magic, Medieval Fantasy, POV Female Character, POV First Person, POV Original Female Character, Tags Are Hard, Titles are hard too, Why Did I Write This?, WynnCraft, abuse of ellipses, i know this is a minecraft fanfic but i promise it doesn’t read like one, no beta we die like women
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 17:34:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22159981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoItsBecky_127/pseuds/NoItsBecky_127
Summary: When Camilla awakens in a wagon on the outskirts of Ragni with a satchel in one hand and a staff in the other, there isn't much she knows. She’s Fruman, after all—it’s simply fact that she remembers nothing from before she left. But what she does know is what matters. She’s a soldier of Wynn, and her job is to protect the people from the corruption that’s been in Wynn for a thousand years.(But how is she supposed to protect people from the enemy when the magic she wields makes them see her as the enemy?)Before long, Camilla is uncovering secrets of Wynn, Gavel, and even beyond that. But with every question she answers, a new one is sparked.(What’s hiding in the abandoned mine south of Ternaves?)And with every person she helps, she makes another enemy.(What is WynnExcavation, and what do they want with her?)But that’s the future. Right now, Camilla is an idealistic recruit of Ragni. Stubborn to a fault and armed with powerful magic she barely understands, she sets out to start her adventure.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	1. Why I Hate Boulders

“Okay, kid.” I’m awoken to the driver poking his head inside the caravan. It’s empty, aside from me. Weren’t there a dozen of us? “I let you be for a while, but you gotta get moving. Not a good idea to keep the king waiting for too long.”

I rub my eyes, picking up my staff and leaving the caravan. “I thought you were dropping us off outside the palace. What happened?” I ask the driver.

He scowls. “Hit a boulder. Same damn one I hit every time. That pile of wasted wheels over there?” He points to where, sure enough, there’s a pile of broken wheels. “S’all from this damn wagon. Sorry to say, you’ll have to walk the rest of the way to Ragni, but it’s pretty much a straight path.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Seems like you ought to do something about the boulder itself.”

”You ain’t wrong, kid.” The driver nods. “Don’t suppose you got a boulder-destroying spell of any sort?”

I shake my head. “I might be able to, but you’d have to get pretty far away. The spells I cast don’t hurt me, but I haven’t got a good grasp on controlling whether or not they hurt certain people.” How do I know that? I can’t remember ever casting a spell—yet when I look at the staff in my hand, I can think of several different spells off the top of my head, and my proficiency with them.

“Understood,” he says.

“So, that’s the question of the caravan answered. Now, why am I here and everyone else is in Ragni already?”

“You were out of it,” the driver responds. “Passed out for most of the ride, and when we crashed, you barely stirred. I figured if that wasn’t gonna move you, it wasn’t a good idea to have you walk the rest of the way to Ragni yet.”

”I could’ve managed it,” I reply, feeling defensive. Because I can. I must be able to, because I am a soldier, and the staff I hold feels comfortable in my hands, even though I have no memory of ever using it.  
  
“Maybe,” he says, managing to make it sound like _no you couldn’t_ , “but I’d rather not take the risk. Anyhow, you should get going now as to not keep the king waiting much longer. There shouldn’t be any corrupted this far out, so you’re in no danger. Best of luck.”

”Thank you,” I say to him, and with that, I’m on my way.

The open gates ahead of me are huge, ornate, and I know they can only be the gates to Wynn. I suppose, technically, I am still in Fruma.

But there is no sense dwelling on the past. I am a Wynn soldier now, so I should go through the gate and enter Wynn.

Whatever my life was before—I find it hard to recall right now—I am certain it is about to change forever.

Here I go.

I take a deep breath, tighten my grip on my staff, and step through the gates. They close behind me immediately, and just like that, there’s no turning back. I’m in Wynn, and I’m not leaving.

“Alright,” I mutter to myself. “Let’s do this.”

What possessions do I have? I’ve certainly got this staff, that much is clear—it’s hard to miss, considering it’s not much smaller than I am. But what else is there?

I reach into my satchel. Three emeralds, a compass, and a bottle of what would look like water if not for the faint reddish tint to it. A weak healing potion.

Better than nothing, I suppose.

There is a lumberjack near the path, hacking at a giant tree trunk, cutting it into smaller logs. “You one of the new recruits from Fruma, kid?”

I nod. “Sure am.”

”Guess you’re heading to Ragni, then. Bit behind schedule, huh?”

“Well…yes, I suppose so.” I elect not to explain why. Wynnians have enough problems without knowing that their soldiers can’t even be trusted to wake up when necessary.

”Castle’s right along this path, straight shot east.” He points. “Just head that way, you’ll get there in no time.”

I also elect not to tell him I already knew that.

I’m walking for a little while before I come across my next obstacle—a gaping chasm and the ruins of a bridge.

”Great,” I mutter. “Thanks for the warm welcome, Wynn.”  
  
I could just cast a totem to the other side and teleport myself to it. That would get me across in a flash.

Unfortunately, a soldier who leaves civilians on the other side of a giant ravine is not a good soldier.

Okay, that tree there is on its last leg. If I cast a weak aura, it might be able to push it over the edge. And that thing will fall on the chasm.

I mutter a quick spell, summoning a totem next to the tree, and another one to teleport to it. _Wow_ , that is disorienting. I imagine I’ll get used to it with time, though.

Now, for the aura. To cast that, I need life force. For that…I need to kill.

Okay. I can kill. I’ll have to do plenty of it with the corrupted. This should not be hard.

But that is not the same. The corrupted are mindless undead. There are none of those here. Only animals, who are alive, who think.

It’s fine. It’s a necessity.

A grook trots past the totem, a few meters away. One blast from my staff is all it takes—they aren't particularly resilient creatures. And just like that, it’s dead.

Great. Job done. I cast a weak aura, and the magic pulses out from the totem, hitting the tree—thankfully the only thing within range. It slices through the barely-holding-itself-together trunk, and the tree falls across the chasm.  
  
There. Makeshift bridge. Now no one is stranded on this side. I make my way across the ravine.

Up ahead, there’s an armor merchant and the entrance to a cave. A guard stands at the entrance. “Halt!” He says as I try to go through.

”What’s the issue, sir?” I ask.

”Cave’s full of corrupted,” he answers. “I can’t let you go through unprotected. You can buy a helmet from that merchant over there.”

Okay. I guess we’re doing this. I turn around, going to the armor merchant. “I’d like to buy a helmet, please.”

”Five emeralds,” he responds.

 _Damn it_. “I only have three. Is there a compromise we can make?”

He shrugs. “Tell you what—get some leather and give me that along with the three emeralds, and a helmet’s yours.”

Leather. Are there any cows anywhere? I look around, and yeah, there’s one not too far away. I just have to…kill it.

This isn’t an issue. I just killed a grook. I can do this.

Before I can think about the moral ramifications of this, I send out two streams of magic from my staff, one after the other, and in just a few seconds the cow is lifeless.

I realize then that there’s one more crucial detail I didn’t consider beforehand. “Er…how do I get the skin off?”

The merchant rolls his eyes. “Just bring the body here. I’ll get the leather later.”

I oblige, dragging it over. Feeling a lifeless body in your hands, even that of an animal, is a good reminder that you just killed something. Two somethings, actually, when I count that grook.

”You alright, kid?” He asks as I drop the carcass by his stall. “You ain’t lookin’ too good.”

”’M fine,” I say. “Just haven’t quite gotten used to killing.” I hand him the emeralds.

He raises an eyebrow. “Would’ve thought folks like you ain’t got a problem with that sorta thing.”

He hands me the helmet, and I frown. ‘Folks like you.’ What’s he talking about? Soldiers?

Whatever it is, I don’t think it’s good, and I’d prefer not to get into any fights with humans this early on in my journey. So I don’t ask.

I put on the helmet and return to the guard at the cave entrance. He steps aside. “Good luck, kid.”

The good news: corrupted are slow. I can outrun them, any day of the week. Bad news: there’s a _lot_ of them. And speed doesn’t mean much when they’re coming at you from all angles, and two more seem to appear for every one you take out.

I cast a totem towards where I see the exit of the cave in the distance, willing it to go as far as possible. Praying I don’t emerge in another horde, I teleport myself to the totem.

It’s not a horde, but there’s no small amount of undead here. There’s guards dealing with them, though. “Get to the castle, kid,” one says. “We’ll handle these undead.”

I’m in no position to argue with that, so I make a mad dash to get out of the cave, not slowing down until I’m on the path to the castle.

Yeah, I need a full set of armor. And a new staff. Thankfully, though, I’m not feeling any major pains, so aside from some bruises and scrapes, I appear to be unharmed.

I can see the castle up ahead, at the end of the path. I feel myself tense—why am I so frightened? It’s not as though the king will behead me for being a few hours late—will he? No, that would be ridiculous. Fruma’s queen didn’t do that—did she? I can’t remember.

Ugh, I’m stalling. Or maybe I’m panicking. Either way, I don’t have time for it. I set off down the path, not thinking of Fruma or lateness or the sting of one of the deeper cuts on my left arm, only of getting to the castle.

Two attendants are standing outside the door. “Welcome,” one says. “You’re a new recruit?” I nod.

”Wonderful,” the other continues. “His Majesty is waiting for you, right that way.” He points to the right. “Come in, he’ll be pleased to see you’ve arrived.”

Sounds like I won’t be in trouble—and if I am, it won’t be severe. Good to know—I would hate for my journey to end before it even began.

I walk into the throne room, where a man is sitting—he must be the king.

“Ah, you must be the last recruit,” he says. “Please, come over and speak to me.”

I walk over, stopping in front of him and curtsying. “I’m sorry for being late, Your Majesty. I got a late start.” I leave it at that—it sounds more respectable than ‘I fell asleep.’

“Understood,” the king says. “In any case, you’re here now. Welcome to the Wynn Province! Where you are, right now, is the noble fort of Ragni. This is one of the oldest and most influential cities in the province.” Between the intricate architecture and the paintings on the wall, I can believe it. “As a soldier of Wynn, your job is to stop the growth of the monsters that ravage this province, and to help the people who have been affected by them.” His tone grows somber. “It is a necessity that you do everything you can for the people. Lives are lost every day to the corruption.”

I nod. “I’ll do my best.”

”Here.” The king hands me a scroll and a small emeraldpurse. “The Blue Mug hosts soldiers at a discounted price; this should get you a room for a night or two. It’s to the east. And the scroll is a teleportation scroll to Ragni. Recite the incantation written on it and tear it in two, and no matter where you are, it will teleport you to the center of Ragni.”

”Thank you, Your Majesty.” I pocket the scroll and emeralds.

”You may go. Best of luck.”

Curtsying once more, I turn and walk through the hallway that will take me out of the castle, into Ragni, into whatever my life now will be.

The final rays of the setting sun hit me, and suddenly it is real. I am standing in Ragni, a soldier of Wynn. Never to enter Fruma again.

Then again, it’s not as though I have anything to miss in Fruma.

Do I? I don't know.

Why don’t I know?

I’m fully grown—shouldn’t there be some sort of memories? I should at least remember a family, or friends, or even just a pet I loved.

No. I have to remember _something_. I rack my brain for something, _anything_ , proving I lived some sort of life in Fruma before coming here.

Home. I must have had some sort of home, right? Yes, I lived in…well. There is no memory of that—perhaps I was homeless.

Parents! There has to have been a family of some sort. My mother, father, maybe even siblings. Of course, my…hm. Well, it’s possible I was an orphan. That happens plenty.

Friends? Everyone has someone to care about them, right? Like my dear friend…alright, that’s a blank too. I suppose being a homeless orphan doesn’t make you friend material.

Oh, who am I kidding? It’s not even just those things—there’s simply nothing there, at all. The first thing in my memory is waking up in that wagon. Before that, my memory is wiped clean.

What _do_ I know? Judging by my proficiency with my staff, I must have some sort of memories, however vague. I run through a mental checklist.

My name is Camilla—surname unknown, because whoever did this didn’t even have the decency to give me a full name. I am nineteen years old. I am a mage—a shaman, to be specific. I am a soldier, sent from Fruma to Wynn to aid in the fight against corruption. I know how to use my staff, and several spells I can cast. I have some vague knowledge of my personality and physical appearance.

That’s it. Everything I know. I am nearly twenty years old, and yet my memories span just a few hours.

”Hey, kid.” The voice of a guard breaks through the haze of shock at this realization. “You okay there? You look like you’ve seen better days.” Perhaps I have. Not like I would know.

I blink a few times. “Yeah, I’m fine.” It’s a lie, but I doubt he knows why I don’t remember anything. “Just…adjusting to Wynn.”

”Ah, you’re one of the new recruits from Fruma. You got any questions, feel free to ask me.” I’ll probably take him up on that, sooner or later.

Because who wouldn’t have questions? I’ve awoken in a province I don’t know, coming from a province I’m supposed to know—but I don’t. Everything is a mystery, but now that I think about it, I imagine the questions I have would baffle this guard as much as they do myself—for the sheer amount of them, if nothing else.

Here I am in Wynn, a near-stranger to myself.

I ought to go find that inn, The Blue Mug. I’ll need someplace to sleep tonight, and I’d prefer that place to not be a bench.

Thinking about anything but my memories, I begin walking east.


	2. Leave Fruma Now And Get Amnesia, Free Of Charge!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good day, folks. It has been months, and I don’t even play Wynncraft anymore. But I still love RPGs and fantasy, so this will continue going. I’ll be removing the Minecraft elements, though, and probably putting a bit of my own spin on it.
> 
> Anyways, here’s chapter two. It’s terrible, but I swear I tried my best.

I brush my fingers over my reflection for what feels like the millionth time, because in some bizarre corner of my mind I hope that maybe it’ll tell me something about who it belongs to. I entered my room at The Blue Mug ten minutes ago, dropped my staff and took off my helmet, gulped down about a third of my one healing potion, and have been staring in the mirror since then, trying to figure out who I am.

The young woman staring back at me is a stranger.

I can recognize myself as I am—whatever happened, it didn’t remove my memory of what I look like. I know my dark eyes, my long, near-black hair, my tan, tawny skin. But beyond the superficial, I don’t know who I am. I know the features all belong to me, but I don’t know who _me_ is.

I tear my eyes away from the mirror. It won’t do me any good to spend all evening and night trying to make sense of myself.

What I do know is that _me_ is low on money. A room at this inn is ten emeralds a night with the discount, and I paid for two nights—so now I have a grand total of fourteen to my name. Hopefully I can make some more before the third night is up, because I need to buy some armor, and maybe a new staff, and sleeping on a bench is still not an option.

“Broke and amnesiac,” I mutter to myself. “What a combination.”

I need a goddamn drink.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, there’s a few other soldiers there, sitting at tables or the counter. Everyone’s as broke as me, I guess, and a discount is a discount.

I slide into a seat at the counter and wave over the innkeeper (Evelyn, she said her name was). She looks to be a year or so older than me—I’m guessing she isn’t running the place alone. “Any recommendations?”

“Well,” she says, “for you, I’d suggest a Nemract Whiskey. ‘S one of the most popular drinks here in Wynn; we recommend it to all the newcomers.”

”Do you get a lot coming through here?” I ask.

”Oh, plenty. Here and Detlas are largely where people new to Wynn wind up. This is the capital, but really, Detlas is the busiest city.”

”And…where do you get newcomers from?” I don’t know what my strategy here is, but I feel like this is a part of it.

”Well, we get all the soldiers, of course.” Evelyn sets down a glass in front of me. “Like you. Here in Wynn, we can pretty much pinpoint your type by accent alone. Around here, we also get elves from Gavel, every so often—my father owns this place, and he says they’ve started coming more in recent years. A few months back, I even met a man from Corkus! Nice fellow, though he kept going on about electromagic, and damn if I know what that is.”

 _Gavel. Corkus_. The words seem unfamiliar, yet immediately my brain supplies information. Gavel: the province to the northeast, across the ocean. Largely populated by elves, with various other races as well—no humans, though. And Corkus, an island to the east populated by humans and Avos. (Don’t ask what an Avos is, I couldn’t tell you.)

”How do I know that?” I mutter to myself, clenching and unclenching my fists.

Evelyn looks up from where she was pouring my whiskey. “Pardon?”

”Oh—nothing.” I shake my head. So whoever did this left me with some knowledge of the other provinces. Not a surprise, really.

”Alright. Well, here’s your drink. Two emeralds, please.”

I hand her the money. Twelve left. Fighting the corruption had better pay well.

Cautiously, I take a sip of the whiskey. A whole province can’t be wrong, right?

It’s smoky, and heavy, and earthy, and tastes faintly of barley. When I swallow, it burns my throat going down.

I’m sure Wynnians love this. I definitely do not.

I down the rest of the glass. I may not like the taste, but alcohol is alcohol, and beggars can’t be choosers.

“Oh, hey, another newbie.”

The voice comes from beside me—when I turn to its source, I see two soldiers; men, around my age, perhaps a couple of years older. The one who spoke is blond, with dark blue eyes and a green vest. On his other side is a redheaded man with a brown hood, a tattered gray shirt, and two daggers sheathed at his waistband. They’re both bearded, with skin several shades lighter than mine.

“Name’s Tasim,” the blond says. Pointing to the redhead, he continues, “He’s Aledar.”

”Camilla.” I shake Tasim and Aledar’s hands. “Nice to meet you both.”

”You, too,” Aledar says.

”So…” Casual conversation. You can do that. Probably. Hopefully. “Thoughts on Wynn so far?”

Aledar just shrugs. “It’s only our first day, so we can’t really offer much there.”

“Oh—yeah. Of course.” I laugh nervously, running a hand through my hair. (I should tie it back. Hair down isn’t practical for fighting.) “Guess we’ve all got a lot to learn, then.”

”A lot to learn about the province of people depending on us,” Tasim says. “But no pressure, right?”

”Exactly.” I laugh again, a real one this time.

These two are Fruman, like me—hell, they were on the same damn caravan that I was. Someone has to know what’s going on with my memories, and it may very well be them.

“So...you guys are Fruman, too." I say the words nonchalantly, casually. Like my heart isn’t in my throat.

Tasim shrugs. “So they say.”

That gives me pause. “So they—” No. No stalling. Just ask them, offhandedly. "Okay, well, I just had a question." Good so far. I don’t think they suspect much.

"Let's hear it," Aledar says.

I pretend to be interested in the fading bruise on my right arm, because if I have to make eye contact while I ask this question I might spontaneously combust. "I was just wondering..." Worst-case scenario, just bluff your way out of it. It'll be fine. They don't have to know about your inexplicable amnesia. "Have either of you had any, um...issues, with your memory? Since we arrived?"

Tasim raises an eyebrow. "…is that a joke?”

My stomach drops. “I—um, well—what do you mean?”

”I mean…of _course_ we’re having issues with our memories. Namely the fact that they’re nonexistent.”

_The fact that they’re nonexistent._

_They’re nonexistent._

Then that means—

"Hang on." I hold up my hands. "You—you’re saying neither of you can remember anything, either?"

Tasim squints. "...no. Of course not."

I'm not sure what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn't _this_. "Well—what about the other recruits? Do _they_ not remember anything, either?" I have a feeling I know the answer, even as I ask the question.

"Okay, were you zoning out when the king explained all this to us? Or--" Aledar cuts himself off, eyes flashing with recognition. " _Oh_. I was wondering if you were okay."

I frown. "What are you talking about? We've never met before now." Unless we've met in one of the many memories I've misplaced, but they apparently have the same amnesia that I do, so that doesn't track.

"Well, no," Aledar concedes, "but I meant what happened to you after the rest of us left."

Oh—he’s talking about my late arrival. “Not my proudest moment,” I say, feeling suddenly sheepish. “I think. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was, honestly.” Did I forget all my social skills, or have I just always been this bad at it?

”I don’t think that would be anyone’s proudest moment,” Tasim says, and I internally thank the gods that the conversation didn’t get uncomfortable. “So did the king forget to explain the memory situation to you, when you arrived?”

I shrug. “He must have. What _is_ the memory situation, exactly?”

”The soldiers who arrive from Fruma don’t remember anything.” Aledar says the words so matter-of-factly I can almost forget he’s talking about the fact that we’ve all experienced years of life that have been wiped from our minds. “We shouldn’t worry about it. No one really knows why, but as far as I could tell, no one’s really bothered to investigate, either. The king says soldiers only started being sent from Fruma in recent years, so the best interpretation is that they haven’t had enough time to begin an investigation.”

Tasim cuts in. “On the flip side, the worst interpretation is that they have their soldiers, so they don’t care to investigate. That’s my guess, but Aledar says I’m being cynical.”

”You _are_ ,” Aledar says, elbowing him.

”So we’re supposed to just…accept this?” I grip the sides of my seat, because I need to do _something_ with my hands and I don’t know what. “That whoever we were before this is lost to us? I’ve got nearly twenty years of memories that are just gone, and they want me to go out and start fighting undead like nothing is wrong?”

“Well, we remember how to fight,” Aledar says, “and I guess they figure that’s enough. Accepting it is all we really _can_ do.”

”I don’t like it either, but we’re here now,” Tasim offers, “so all we can really do is go with it. I doubt it would go well if we tried to investigate, unfortunately.”

It’s a relief, sort of, to know that I’m not supposed to remember anything. It’s good to know that something hasn’t gone horribly wrong with me, that this is to be expected. But that relief is nothing compared to how much this new revelation disturbs me—that every Fruman soldier has amnesia, and that nobody has done anything about it. I don’t know who I was before this, but I must have been _somebody_ —I can’t have simply sprung into existence fully formed at the age of nineteen. But everything from before a few hours ago is gone, locked away or perhaps erased entirely, and I am expected to do nothing about it, to be a soldier and pretend everything is fine, to not desperately wonder who the hell I am.

”Wynnians had better pay us well for this,” I say, finally.

* * *

I talk with Tasim and Aledar for a little while afterwards. We discuss first impressions of Wynn (we have no frame of reference, so they’re pretty neutral), the journey here (they had a much easier time than I did, probably due to being in a group of eleven), whether I can convince Evelyn to give us some drinks on the house by flirting with her (I could not, but she did give me a free sweet roll, and she didn’t seem actively opposed to the flirting, so I considered it a success), stuff like that. Whatever we can talk about without addressing the memories-shaped elephant in the room too much. There’s nothing to do for it, so why talk about it?

Once we decide to call it a night and I’m back in my room alone, I’m able to ignore it long enough to wash myself with the soap and bucket of well water the inn provides. Then I’m clean, and I’m thinking about it all over again.  
  
I know I’m supposed to just leave this be, but I can’t stand that thought. I can’t back off and not find out more just because it’s what I’ve been told. Hell, it might have even increased my desire to find out what’s going on.

I can’t get the answers yet, that’s for sure. But I will. _One way or another,_ I promise myself, _whenever I can, I will find out the truth._

Determination renewed, I fall asleep with only minimal trouble.

* * *

Based on what I’m able to see of the tail end of the sunrise, I’m sure they’re very beautiful. However, right now I hate them, because the sun shining in my face is a much ruder awakening than I feel like it should be.

Braid the hair. Put on the helmet. Grab the staff and satchel. It’s not a routine, yet, but I can tell it’ll become one.

”Okay, Wynn,” I say aloud. “Time to see what you have to offer.”

I’m ready—ready as I’ll ever be, anyhow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully the next chapter won’t take five months. I can’t promise anything, though. Leave a comment, I thrive off of them.


End file.
